


roses and thorns

by salazarsslytherin



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, M/M, Modern AU, Not Beta Read, Pining, every ship needs one, good old tropey fun, it's just what it says on the tin, there's really not much to this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 20:04:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13508811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salazarsslytherin/pseuds/salazarsslytherin
Summary: Jaime runs a flower shop.  Bronn owns a tattoo parlour down the street.





	roses and thorns

Jaime saw a lot of people drifting in and out of the shop; most often, they were brides-to-be, husbands who were in the doghouse, or they were mourning.  The man who stepped through the door ten minutes before closing time on a fairly typical Thursday afternoon was _not_ the sort Jaime would have expected to see even glancing into the window of a flower shop, let alone looking up at the bell overhead as he walked inside.  

He seemed more the type to be stood, biceps flexed, outside a club on a Friday night, or straddling a motorbike with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.  Frankly, he was more Jaime’s _type_ than anything else; bearded, kind of scowl-y, broad in the shoulder.  The black leather jacket was working for him as well.  _Really_ working.  

Jaime blinked at him in silence for a moment.  “Do you...need directions somewhere?” he asked, which was no way to greet a potential customer, he knew, but Jaime’s manners had momentarily deserted him.

Thankfully, the man didn’t take offence; he only snorted as he stomped right over to the counter Jaime had been leaning on.  He straightened up at once, smoothing his hands over his green apron.  He wished he was wearing something a little less stained and shapeless, but it couldn’t be helped.

“I ain’t lost,” the man said, and his voice was rough as well, just the sort of voice you wanted in your ear in the bedroom.  “I’m looking for flowers.”

That made sense, given that he’d walked into a florist.  Jaime nodded, then started himself.  “Of course,” he said quickly.  “We sell those.”  _Obviously_.  God, he was an embarrassment to mankind, Tyrion would laugh himself into hysterics if he could see him.  “What sort of flowers do you need, sir?”

The man’s eyes flickered right to Jaime’s, then, and Jaime felt himself flush under the scrutiny.  

“Something nice for your...wife?” Jaime added.  Shameless, _shameless_ , but he couldn’t help himself.

“Nah,” the man said, waving a hand.  “Funeral.”

 _Fuck_.  “I’m so sorry,” Jaime said hastily, eyes going wide.  He was usually better at spotting them than that, though why _else_ would he be in here?  He didn’t exactly look like a blushing bride, or like he was the sort of doting husband who brought flowers home after work on a weekday.  Not that he was wearing a wedding ring.  _Not_ that Jaime had checked...

“Don’t mention it,” the man shrugged.  “We weren’t really close.  Just seemed appropriate, don’t wanna show up empty-handed.”

Jaime nodded and slipped out from behind the counter, moving out amongst the flower displays.  “Do you know what sort of flowers you want?” he asked.

“That’s what I’ve got you for,” the man replied, arching an eyebrow at Jaime.  “You _do_ work here, don’t ya?”

“Well I don’t wear this apron as a _fashion choice_ ,” Jaime retorted.  He thought the man’s eyes flickered to take in the apron, then, skimming down and then up, but Jaime wasn’t sure if he was just seeing what he wanted to see.  Maybe.  It was difficult to read men like this; with all that leather, he could go either way.

“Glad to hear it,” the man said.

Jaime paused.  Was he trying to say that Jaime didn’t look good in the apron?  He knew it wasn’t the most flattering thing out there, but he pulled it off better than most.  He couldn’t _do_ what Cersei did and tighten it around the waist so her breasts looked bigger, he didn’t _have those_.

Not that it _mattered_ ; he was meant to be working.

“Funeral,” Jaime said, by way of getting them back on track.  The man gave him a bored sort of look, waiting, and Jaime spun on his heel to point at a display.  “Lilies,” he continued, clearing his throat.  “Lilies are the most common funeral flower, those are for sympathy and purity, I, well...what are you trying to say with these?” he added, glancing back over at his customer.

The man’s eyebrows crept back up.  “What am I trying to _say_?” he repeated, before frowning.  “I’m trying to say _sorry you snuffed it, here’s some flowers_.”

Jaime’s mouth dropped open for a moment in pure shock but he couldn’t help the breath of laughter that escaped.  “You...you can’t say that!”

“Well _I’m_ not gonna say that,” the man retorted.  “The flowers are.  So gimme flowers, flower-boy.”

“Lilies, then,” Jaime decided, choosing _not_ to respond to the flower-boy comment.  “And gladioli, for sincerity,” he said, shooting a quick look at the man, who only smirked at him.  “And some roses.”

“What’re they for?” the man asked.

“They’re _rose_ s,” Jaime said simply.

The man laughed.  “Of _course_ you like roses,” he said, and Jaime could _hear_ the eye-roll even though he had his back to him.

“What’s wrong with roses?” Jaime demanded, turning around.  “They’re a classic choice for any flower arrangement!”

His words were met with laughter again, though it wasn’t unkind.  The man put his hands up in surrender.  “Alright, alright,” he said.  “Very classic.  I actually do like roses.”

It was Jaime’s turn to snort.  “I’m sure,” he said.

“I do,” the man insisted, and to Jaime’s surprise he began shrugging off his jacket.  He was probably doing it for a reason but Jaime’s brain had disengaged, tripping over the _arms_ inside that black t-shirt, and the ink spilling along them.  The man was covered in tattoos, and he was really.  He was.  He was _wearing_ that t-shirt, that t-shirt was _working_ , Jaime very much liked it, it was tight, emphasising the toned chest, flat stomach, those _arms_ , he—

He was talking.  The man was talking.

“See?”

Jaime blinked back into reality, his mouth dry.  

Helpfully, the man was holding out his arm, so it was at once obvious what he had been talking _about_ and as Jaime’s gaze dropped to look, he couldn’t help the slight intake of breath at what he saw.  He really _must_ like roses, seeing as he had the most intricately beautiful tattoos of them twining along his forearm, blending seamlessly with the other art he had inked all over him.

“Whoa,” Jaime let out, very sincerely impressed.  “Those are incredible.  Who drew them?”

“ _I_ drew ‘em, but a friend of mine tattooed ‘em,” the man told him, tugging his jacket back on (which was a genuine shame for all of humanity but particularly for Jaime Lannister).  

“They’re amazing,” Jaime told him.  “You and your friend are really good.”  It sounded cheesy and fake as soon as he said it aloud, but the tattoos truly were incredible—the detailing in the roses was shockingly realistic, like if you pressed your fingers to the petals they might wilt and fall off.

“Thanks,” the man said with a quick grin.  “I can’t keep an actual plant alive for more’n a week but these babies have lasted a while.”

Jaime’s lips twitched as he headed back to the counter to tally up the man’s arrangement.  “I’ll get this sorted for you tonight and you can drop by any time tomorrow morning to collect it,” he said, carefully writing out the details on the little pad for collections.  “Can I take your name?”

“It’s Bronn,” the man said, handing over his card to pay.  

Jaime processed the payment, his heart starting to pick up speed behind his ribs.  He should give him his number, shouldn’t he?  He should _try_.  What did he have to lose by just going for it?  He might get brutally rejected and never live it down, but other than _that_?

“Uh, here you go,” he said, swallowing hard and handing the card back with the receipt.  “It’ll be under the name Bronn.”

“Thanks,” Bronn said, tucking his card away.  He lingered for a moment, watching Jaime.  “You gonna be in tomorrow morning, then?  When I come and collect ‘em?”

“Oh,” Jaime said, his stomach lurching pleasantly.  “No.  It’ll be my sister.  She’s working tomorrow.”  _Give him your number, give him your fucking number_.  But Jaime just stood there, on the verge of a half-second of courage that never came.

“That’s a shame,” Bronn said, once the moment had passed.  “Maybe I’ll see you around some other time, then.”  He lifted a hand to wave and turned to saunter away, the little bell ringing out again as the door swished shut behind him.

Jaime groaned and let himself collapse dramatically across the counter.  _Coward_.

He gave himself a few minutes to let his heart-rate calm down before getting to work actually making Bronn’s order.  It was the last one of the day; he’d finished everything else up that afternoon and the shop was now closed so he wouldn’t be getting anything else in.

Jaime stayed late to make sure it was perfect, then debated with himself for a solid ten minutes before grabbing the notebook from the front and scrawling out a note to stick to the back of the order paper.

 

_My name’s Jaime, by the way.  Got any more tattoos you want to show me? x_

 

He put his number underneath while flushing bright red, despite there being nobody nearby to witness this.  Was it too forward?  That was kind of the _point_ , after all; Jaime wouldn’t mind having those _arms_ around him (and those legs, and that mouth…).  And if he _did_ get rejected, at least he’d never have to _face_ him because he’d simply never hear from him.  It was fine.

 _Fine_.

Jaime left and locked up the shop in a rush, before he could change his mind.  What happened, happened; it was in the universe’s hands, now.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Two weeks later, Jaime had reluctantly accepted that the universe did not want he and Bronn the hot, tattooed, leather-wearing, flower-buyer to be.  He hadn’t called.  Jaime was trying very hard not to be upset over it, because that would be ridiculous.  They’d met once, barely spoken.

Still, it was kind of gutting.  And by kind of, he meant a _lot_.  He’d _thought_ that when Bronn said it was a shame he wouldn’t be in that morning when he came to collect, he’d meant that he wanted to see Jaime again.  He must’ve just been making conversation though.  That, or maybe he’d bumped into someone on the way home and hit it off.  Or maybe he’d just decided that a man who sold flowers wasn’t really for him, given the leather-and-tattoos vibe he had going on.

It was possible Jaime was thinking too much about it, but he was really honestly disappointed that Bronn had never called and he couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it. 

So he really didn’t know _what_ to think when he looked up from his coffee one morning to see Bronn walking through the door again, offering Jaime an easy grin the moment he saw him.

“Flowers were a hit at the funeral, by the way,” Bronn said, by way of greeting.

Jaime set his coffee cup down.  “Oh, really?” he asked.  It hadn’t been anything particularly special, not the sort of flowers they did for proper funeral arrangements, just a little something as a token gesture.

“Nah,” Bronn replied with a laugh, shaking his head.  “I don’t think anyone even noticed I brought any, they had quite a lot already.”

“And bigger things to worry about,” Jaime put in.

Bronn shrugged.  “Exactly.  They were nice, though, and it’s me mum’s birthday today so I thought—why not get some more?”

“Some more...funeral flowers?”

“Does that work for a birthday?”

“Uh, no,” Jaime said.

“Then no,” Bronn told him.  “Summat nice.  Bright, maybe?”

Jaime stood and came out from behind the counter.  “Okay, how about some wildflowers?” he suggested, carefully remaining a good distance from Bronn as he crossed over to look at what stock they had in.  He was trying not to look at him too much or it would really hit home what had slipped through his fingers.  What was he even doing back in here, practically rubbing his rejection in Jaime’s face?  It was unnecessary; Jaime felt itchy with embarrassment every time he thought of the damn _note_ he’d left.  He should never have done it, he should have let it go but he just couldn’t _help himself_.

“Sure,” Bronn agreed.  “You’re the expert.”

Jaime didn’t consult him after that, picking a few bits and pieces, some peach and some red roses, and freesia, with fresh green berries to fill it out.

Bronn leaned against the counter all the while, and Jaime could feel his eyes on him, could feel his face heating as a result.  Was he making a _point_?  There were plenty of other flower shops in town, there was no need to come in here and just make things _awkward_ , Jaime had been having a perfectly fine morning before this.

“So,” Bronn said, after a few minutes of silence.  “You like flowers, huh?”

Jaime didn’t turn around.  “Yep,” he said, as casually as he could.  Why didn’t they just _not talk_?  That would be much easier, less _mortifying_ for Jaime, who could see the note he’d left in his mind’s eye as though it was still right in front of him.

He heard the rustle and footsteps of Bronn moving about the shop, wandering around to look at the flowers on display before he circled back and wound up near Jaime again.  “I’m gonna go grab a coffee, can I get you anything?” he asked, breaking the silence that had fallen.

“No thanks,” Jaime said, still not turning around.  His heart was beating uncomfortably fast and every inch of him felt hyper-aware of where Bronn was, particularly as he came closer.  He only relaxed again when the door swung shut behind Bronn as he left to find his coffee, and even then he didn’t feel all that calm.  He wished he’d never left his damn number anywhere near Bronn’s stupid bouquet so that he could still at least just _look_ at him without feeling like the saddest reject on the planet.

(Jaime Lannister did not have much experience with rejection, and he did not take it well).

Without Bronn there making him nervous, though, Jaime made good work on the flowers and was busy wrapping them by the time Bronn returned, bearing two cups of coffee.

Jaime stared at the second cup as Bronn set it down, his eyebrows drawing upwards.

“I know you said you didn’t want anything,” Bronn told him.  “But I didn’t listen.  Can I pay by card?”  He produced it and swiped it through the machine, gathering up his flowers with a quick little smirk at Jaime.  “‘Til next time, then.”

It was only after he was gone that Jaime looked at the coffee cup and saw the words ‘Flower Boy’ written on the side in lieu of his name.  He rolled his eyes, but took the cup to drink it; there was no point in wasting good coffee, after all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A week after the birthday flowers, Bronn showed up _again_ and Jaime held back a small sigh as he stepped through the door.  He was in his leather jacket again today, but the t-shirt beneath was white and through the thin material Jaime could see the dark shapes of more tattoos over his chest, though he couldn’t tell what they were.  He really, _really_ wanted to know.  Preferably wanted to see them, run his fingers over them, maybe even his mouth.  Not that that was ever going to happen, clearly, but a man could dream, couldn’t he?  

“Alright,” Bronn greeted, strolling right up to the counter.  He offered a grin that had Jaime’s lips tugging around a responding smile before he could help himself.

“Hi,” Jaime said, his eyes flickering to Bronn’s for the briefest moment before they slid away, unable to meet his gaze for very long.  He could already feel his face heating just from that.  _God_ , he was pathetic.  It was as though knowing there wasn’t a chance had only made him more attached to the entire idea, and it _really_ wasn’t helping that Bronn kept showing up in his leather jacket and his infectious grin and his wide shoulders just to _taunt_ Jaime with what he couldn’t have.

“Whose birthday is it today, then?” 

“No birthday,” Bronn replied.  “Kinda want summat to make a nice romantic gesture with, you know?  Express my interest in someone.”

Jaime blinked, taking a moment to absorb that kick to the gut.  No wonder he hadn’t called, if he was already seeing someone else, or at least had his sights set.  “Right,” Jaime got out, clearing his throat.  _Idiot_.  He ought to go out tonight and just find someone else, get this ridiculous _crush_ out of his system once and for all, particularly if Bronn was going to keep coming in here and making it difficult to pretend he’d never existed.  

“Mmmhm,” Bronn hummed, nodding.  “So what would you recommend?”

“Well,” Jaime said, steadfastly not looking at Bronn at all and hastily slipping out from behind the counter to give him an excuse not to.  “Roses are the most obvious choice.  Red, of course.  Very romantic.  Just a single one—it’s classic.  A single red rose.”  

Bronn laughed.  “You and your roses,” he said indulgently, and Jaime felt the tone of it rock through him, the familiarity.  What was he _doing_ , coming in here?  And if he _had_ to come in here, couldn’t he just come in on the days when Cersei or Tyrion were working instead?  Did it _have_ to be during Jaime’s shifts?

“Roses are lovely,” Jaime said defensively.  “And you can’t misinterpret a red rose.  Nobody really cares much about flower meanings, but that...you know.  It’s pretty clear what it means, so uh, whoever you’re giving it to can hardly miss what you’re trying to say.”  Unfortunately.  It was probably terrible of Jaime to hope that it went down in flames and then maybe Bronn would call Jaime after, and Jaime, being the pathetically weak creature he was (weak for that leather jacket, anyway), would answer.  But he hoped for it nonetheless.

“That’s the idea,” Bronn said cheerfully.  “One red rose then, please.”  

Jaime nodded and headed to pick one out.  It was tempting to pick the worst of the bunch, just to be an asshole, but he didn't.  Instead Jaime spent several long minutes looking over all of the roses they had in, and eventually picked the nicest one they had; long stem, beautiful shape, deep, gorgeous colour.  He ran one finger gently along one of the petals, though he knew he shouldn’t, before carrying it over to the counter to wrap it up.

Bronn was still stood nearby, had silently watched Jaime’s long selection process and smiled at him when Jaime made his way back to the counter.  “Got one?” he asked.

Jaime nodded and held it out to show him.  “Is this one okay?”  

“Do you like it?” Bronn asked.

“Of course,” Jaime replied.

“Then it’s fine.  Just looks like a rose to me,” Bronn admitted, shrugging ruefully.

Jaime bent his head and kept his eyes down as he neatly wrapped the stem, so absorbed in the simple task that he jumped at the shrill ring of a phone.

“Ah, shit,” Bronn said, glancing at the number.  “I have to take this.”  He lifted the phone to his ear with one hand while the other dug in his pocket.  “Hello?  Whoa, calm down.  Slower.  _What_?  Shit, alright, I’ll be right there.”  

Bronn managed to wrestle a few notes from his pocket and tossed the money on the counter, waving an apologetic hand at Jaime as he continued to listen to whoever was on the line.  

 _I’ll catch you later_ , he mouthed with a quick wink, before turning on his heel and darting for the door.

“Wait!  You forgot…”  Jaime shut up as the door closed behind Bronn, who hadn’t even looked back.  His rose sat on the counter beside the money Bronn had thrown down for it, as forgotten and ignored as the damn note Jaime had left that first time.

He finished wrapping it, taking his time to make sure it was just perfect, as though his flower-wrapping skills were going to change Bronn’s mind about dating him.  He’d probably drop by later on to pick it up, once he realised he’d forgotten it.  Jaime stuck a little note saying ‘Bronn’ to the front and put it with the rest of the flowers due for collection in the next day or so.

When he came back into work two days later, however, he found both the note and the rose tossed in the bin following Cersei’s shift.  

Evidently, Bronn had found some other way of making his interest clear. 

Still...it had been a lovely rose.  Furtively, Jaime rescued it from the discarded pile and took it out back for safe-keeping.  Just in case Bronn came back in for it.  And if he didn’t, well.  Jaime loved roses, he wasn’t going to complain about having one decorate the desk in the office for a little while.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jaime’s very next shift, Bronn walked in yet again.

“Oh, hi,” Jaime said, looking up and spotting him, smiling away before he could stop himself.

Bronn was already grinning at him.

“Another birthday?” Jaime asked.

“Graduation,” Bronn corrected.  “My cousin.  Got anything for that?”

“Of course.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Back again?” Jaime laughed a few days later as Bronn stepped through the door.

“Tired of seeing me?”

“No,” Jaime said quickly, and far too honestly.  “What can I get you?”

“Can you do flowers for a little girl’s Christening?”

Jaime nodded.  “Sure.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m starting to think we should start up a frequent customer’s scheme,” Jaime said as Bronn walked in yet again not two days later.

Bronn snorted.  “I’d sign up,” he said.  “Would you run a little club for us?”

“Mm,” Jaime nodded.  “With little tutorials on how to arrange flowers and match colour palettes.”

“Then I’d definitely join,” Bronn said, meeting Jaime’s eyes and grinning widely.  

Jaime forgot himself for a long moment as he just smiled back, likely looking a lovesick idiot before he caught himself and blinked, looking away.  “Ah, so.  What can I help you with today?”

“Uuh,” Bronn drawled.  “New baby.  My sister just had one.”

“Oh, congratulations to her,” Jaime said.  “Boy or girl?”

“Err, little boy.”

Jaime immediately set to work, picking the flowers and colours himself since he’d realised several visits ago that Bronn had no interest in giving his own input.  

Bronn lounged against the counter while Jaime pottered around, watching him all the while, occasionally making small-talk or commenting on things Jaime was doing.  They’d fallen into an easy habit of it, lately—so much so that Jaime had almost forgotten about the damned note he’d left.  Of course, he _hadn’t_ forgotten, but he didn’t dwell so much.  And he was still very much nursing the ridiculous crush that was only getting stronger day by day, but each time Bronn came in and hung around while Jaime sorted his orders, chatting away and whistling cheerfully when the conversation came to an easy quiet, it just felt _nice_.  

The shop was usually quite quiet in terms of customer flow, so they were rarely interrupted for long.  Jaime had found himself dragging out each bouquet for Bronn, taking his time over it to just steal a _few_ more minutes.  Once or twice, he found himself wondering if he should maybe try again, slide Bronn his number with his receipt or even just go ahead and ask him for coffee, but he never did.  Why ruin this when it was nice as it was?  At least this way, Jaime could still _see_ him, and laugh at his (usually quite dark) jokes, and listen to his stories about ridiculous customers at the tattoo parlour he owned down the street.

When the flowers were all done and wrapped, Bronn reached for his wallet to pay but Jaime waved him off.

“These are on me,” he said with a little grin.  “We’ll call it a perk for frequent customers.”

Bronn held his gaze for a few moments before he huffed out a laugh and glanced away.  “Alright then,” he said, scooping them up.  “Thanks, flower-boy.”  He winked ( _again_ , he did that a lot lately and Jaime was trying _so hard_ not to read too much into it) and waved over his shoulder as he left.

“Jaime,” Jaime muttered to the empty shop.  “My name’s _Jaime_.”  He _had_ put it on the damned note, the least Bronn could had done before he’d chucked it away was _read_ it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Why don’t you just ask him out?” Tyrion said rationally, looking up from the accounting books he’d been bent over to where Jaime was cutting stalks down to size.

“I _can’t_ , haven’t you been _listening_?” Jaime said, cutting one particularly viciously and tossing the end into the rubbish pile.  “If he was interested, he’d have called.”

“Well maybe he wasn’t interested _then_ and he is _now_ ,” Tyrion pointed out.  “It sounds like he is.  Have you ever had any customer come in here so much?”

Jaime shook his head.  “He has quite a big family, I think flowers are just an easy gift.  He works quite close.”

Tyrion rolled his eyes.  “ _Or_ he’s finding excuses to come in here to see _you_.  _I’ve_ never served a biker guy, and I doubt Cersei has or I’m sure she’d have made some kind of snide comment.  What did you say his name was again?”

“It’s—”  Jaime cut himself off as the bell in the store rang out and he shot Tyrion a hopeful look.  “Can you go deal with that?  I need to get these done by four.”

“Wha—then _why_ have you only just _started_?” Tyrion demanded, slipping off his chair all the same and hastening out into the shop to greet the customer who’d just walked in.

Jaime bent back over the flowers he was cutting, only to freeze when he heard Tyrion call out, ‘Bronn!’ and the familiar, gravelly voice return, ‘ _Tyrion_?’.  

Oh, this was bad.  They _knew_ each other?

Jaime nearly brained himself tripping over a stool as he leapt to get back out to the front of the shop, just in time to hear Tyrion’s shocked, “ _You’re_ Jaime’s biker?”

“I’m...what?” Bronn asked, and Jaime drowned him out with a loud, fake laugh.

“Aah, Tyrion, always making jokes,” Jaime said, glaring daggers at his little brother.  “Uh, you two know each other?”

“We used to go to the same gym,” Bronn said.  “It’s been _months_ , Christ.  This…”  Bronn stared at Tyrion and pointed over at Jaime.  “ _This_ is _Jaime_?”

“I _told_ you you’d like him!” Tyrion retorted.

Bronn laughed, shaking his head as he looked between the two of them.  “Well, no offence, Tyr, but I assumed he’d look like _you_ and I don’t wanna be waking up next to that ugly mug anytime soon.”

“Well, you haven’t changed,” Tyrion snorted.  “I _did_ tell you he was the better looking one.”

“You coulda shown me a damn picture,” Bronn said, waving a hand at Jaime, who was quite sure he was missing something, or had missed something.  In all honesty, he was still reeling from the fact that these two knew each other; he couldn’t think of anything less likely.  

“I’ve gotta run, I’ve got a client in a few minutes,” Bronn said, still looking between Tyrion and Jaime with a bemused grin.  “You about this weekend?  We’ll have to grab a drink,” he added, his gaze skirting pointedly over to Jaime.  “And maybe your brother could come.  Jaime, ain’t it?”

“Um, yeah,” Jaime told him, handing over the bouquet Bronn was here to collect.  “I told you ages ago.”

Bronn frowned.  “No you didn’t,” he said.  “I always wondered.  Look, I have to go—drinks, this weekend.  Alright?”

Jaime could only blink dumbly as Tyrion agreed for both of them, sniggering as he waved Bronn out the door.

“Wait, Bronn!” Tyrion called, just as he stepped outside.  “Who are those even _for_?”

“Oh,” Bronn said, glancing down at them.  “Aah, my sister.  Just got engaged,” he said wryly.

Tyrion arched an eyebrow.  “Do you _have_ a sister?”

“Nope!” Bronn replied, laughing loudly as he strolled out into the street and the door swung shut behind him.

Jaime stood there in silence for a long moment, staring after him.  “What...what the hell was _that_?” he demanded, turning to Tyrion, but his brother only took one look at him before roaring with laughter, hunched over with it and wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

“ _Tyrion_ ,” Jaime ground out.

“Sorry!” Tyrion spluttered.  “My poor, oblivious big brother.  I tried to set Bronn up with you when I first met him, and he’s been coming in here to see you!  What are the chances?”  He spluttered with laughter for another long moment, while Jaime stood by getting steadily more annoyed.  

“Ah,” Tyrion sighed, wiping his eyes again.  “Well.  I think I’ll _not_ be joining you for drinks this weekend.”

Jaime stared at him.  “ _Drinks_!” he repeated, before clearing his throat when his voice came out much higher than he’d intended.  “I don’t...I _gave_ him my number!  I wrote him a note!  He _never called_.”

“So what?” Tyrion said, shrugging carelessly.  “He clearly likes you.  And you like him.  What’s the problem?”

“I…”  Jaime wasn’t _sure_ , to be honest.  He wasn’t really sure what had just happened.  “Since when do _you_ go to the gym?”

Tyrion made a face.  “I don’t, any more.  I was going a class there for a while.  I _did_ tell you at the time, do you just not listen to anything I say?”

“Sorry, what?” Jaime asked.  He laughed as Tyrion threw a flower stalk at him with a glare, stepping to the side to avoid it.  “I’m joking, I do remember.  Hey, do you think he actually wants to go for drinks, then?” he asked, feeling a bit giddy at the thought.  “He kind of asked _you_ , not me.”

Tyrion rolled his eyes.  “He was asking _you_ , idiot.  I’ll see him another time.  Now you can stop complaining about how the tattooed biker who keeps coming in here isn’t interested, and maybe you can get back to sorting your customer’s bouquet because it’s nearly four.”  

“ _Shit_!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The next morning, strolling into work, Jaime was pretty sure he was still riding the high from last night.  And nothing had even _happened_ last night, but he had a date.  Sort of.  Was it a date?  It was kind of a date.  Wasn’t it?  Bronn _had_ technically asked Tyrion to come along, but he’d wanted Jaime there as well.  And Tyrion _said_ he’d tried to set them up before.  So.  It was a date.  He hoped.

Of course, they hadn’t agreed a time or a place and they didn’t have each other’s numbers so it could all very easily fall through, but hopefully it wouldn’t.  Jaime wasn’t actually sure he could cope with that a second time; he’d have to leave, find another job somewhere so Bronn could never find him again.  Which would be fairly awkward to explain to his siblings seeing as Jo’s Flowers was a family business and Jaime worked the bulk of the hours, given that he was the one most interested in the shop itself.  Tyrion did it out of loyalty, he suspected, and Cersei just to spite their father, who hadn’t stepped foot near the shop since the day their mother had died.

Regardless, Jaime walked into work that morning with a distinct spring in his step and was far happier to greet the first customers of the day than he usually was.  He even gave out several free flowers, just _because_.  

Then, just before noon, the door of the shop slammed open and the very personification of the _opposite_ of Jaime’s mood walked in.

He blinked at the woman who stood framed in the doorway, staring at her in naked surprise.  She was tall—taller than than him, taller than Bronn, and she nearly filled the narrow doorway with the sheer, muscled bulk of her.  She had several piercings and tattoos on the backs of her hands, snaking up her wrists, and she was glaring directly at Jaime.  He was the _tiniest_ bit frightened of her, just on instinct.

“You,” she barked.  “ _Flower-boy_.”

Jaime’s mouth gaped open in shock and he awkwardly cleared his throat.  “Uh...can I...help you?”

“ _Yes_ you can help me,” she snapped, striding closer.  “Are you the one Bronn keeps buying flowers from?”

“Er...yes?” Jaime replied, not fond of the way he had to look _up_ at her as she came right up to the counter.

“Well _stop_ ,” she said.  

Jaime’s eyes went wide.  “Oh God, you’re not his wife, are you?”  They looked a pair, that was for sure, what with the tattoos and general kind of scary vibe they both had going on.

“No!” the woman said at once, screwing her face up as though horrified by the very thought.  Jaime felt a flicker of offense on Bronn’s behalf.  “But I swear to _God_ if he brings _one more_ bouquet of flowers into the studio, I’m going to kill him and then _you_.  There are flowers _everywhere_.  They’re in the window, in the bathroom, in the office—they’re in the _chairs_.  That is _unhygenic_.”

She delivered a very effective glare with her words, and Jaime put his hands up in surrender.

“I didn’t know he was bringing them to the studio!” he said quickly.  “He _said_ they were for his mother’s birthday, and a wedding, and a new baby!”

“How can you be so _dense_?” she demanded.  “Here’s his number.  _Call him_ , and _stop_ selling him flowers,” she added, slapping a business card down on the counter before Jaime.  “I don’t know why the damned fool didn’t give it to you ages ago, he’s been mooning over you for _weeks_.”

Jaime felt his own face light up at that.  “He has?”

The woman rolled her eyes before pointing a finger in Jaime’s face.  “No more flowers,” she said seriously.    

“No more flowers,” Jaime agreed obediently, swiping the business card off the counter with a satisfied grin.  

She gave Jaime one more glare for good measure before turning and stomping back to the door, leaving without a backward glance.  

Jaime stared down at the card in his hand, which listed Bronn Blackwater’s number in bold, black ink, and the address of his workplace.  _Rose & Dagger Tattoos_.  Jaime huffed; Bronn had _no_ room to ridicule him for loving roses when his own _business_ was named for the things.

He sent a text immediately.

**_Your frequent flower buyer card has been revoked by the management.  Please accept my apologies for any inconvenience.  J_ **

He’d barely set his phone aside to start working on the next arrangement in his schedule when the message tone rang out.  Though he would deny it to his dying day, Jaime reached for his phone so fast he dropped the scissors he’d been holding and broke them.

**_Revoked??  Pretty sure I buy more flowers than a funeral parlour!_ **

Jaime laughed, glancing up to make sure nobody was about to enter the shop before typing out his response.

**_Apparently that’s the problem.  Do you happen to work with any very tall, scary blonde women?_ **

Bronn’s reply came immediately: **_Oh dear, have you met Brienne?_**

**_She yelled at me.  There were death threats.  I get the feeling she doesn’t like flowers?_ **

Jaime’s phone began ringing after that.  He answered before the first ring had even timed out.

“Hi,” he said, a little more breathlessly than he’d care to admit.

“Do I need to have words with Brienne?” Bronn asked.  

Jaime laughed.  “No, she was fine, really.  Friend of yours?”

“Maybe not for much longer,” Bronn muttered, though there was clear amusement in his voice.  “So, I know we talked about this weekend, but do you wanna get a coffee or summat before then?”

Jaime had to pull the phone away from his ear for a second as did a tiny jig of triumph.  “Yeah, that’d be great,” he said, grinning down the phone.  “When?”

“Um, now?”  The words came through the phone, and from the shop door as it swung open to let Bronn inside, smirking at Jaime’s evident surprise.  “I work like three doors away,” he said, hanging up and putting his phone away.  “So, coffee?”

“I’m working,” Jaime laughed.

Bronn reached behind him to flip the sign on the door from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’.  “So take a break,” he suggested, sauntering over.

“I can’t just take a break to get a coffee,” Jaime protested, but he couldn’t stop the grin that had worked its way all over his face, watching Bronn as he got steadily closer and stopped just in front of him.

“No?” Bronn asked.  “That’s a shame.  How about for a kiss, then?”

“For wh—”

Jaime didn’t get the words out before Bronn’s mouth was on his, one hand coming up to clasp the back of his neck and pull him in _closer_ , his tongue licking into Jaime’s mouth.  It was no sweet and tender first kiss; it was almost rough, wet and hot and it left Jaime wide-eyed and gasping for breath by the time Bronn pulled away.   

“I left you a note,” Jaime said quickly, earnestly.  “The very first time.  You—you never _called_.”

Bronn shook his head and leaned in to kiss him again, stepping forward to push Jaime back until he was pressed against the counter behind him.  “I never got a note,” he said when he broke away, just enough so he could speak, his beard rasping over Jaime’s cheek as he leaned in to put his lips next to Jaime’s ear.  “Trust me,” he murmured, “if I’d had your number, I’d’ve called.”

“You would?” Jaime asked hopefully, letting out a tiny ‘ _oh_ ’ as both of Bronn’s hands slid down to grasp his ass, squeezing for a moment before he suddenly lifted and Jaime found himself deposited on the countertop.  

“Oh, I would,” Bronn assured him, tugging him in for another kiss, sliding his hands up Jaime’s thighs.  “Been wanting to do _this_ since I first fuckin’ saw ya.”

“I did try,” Jaime gasped, staring over Bronn’s shoulder to make sure there were no customers waiting outside.  “I put it on the flowers for my sister to give you.”

Bronn chuckled.  “All she gave me was the flowers and a dirty look, baby,” he said.  “No note.  No number.”

“ _Cersei_ ,” Jaime growled out.  He _had_ wondered, when Bronn had said he hadn’t told him his name.  “She must’ve taken it off.”

“To be honest,” Bronn said, taking a firm hold of Jaime’s chin and kissing him deeply again.  “I don’t care.  Shut up and kiss me.”

Jaime obliged, leaning in and pressing his knees into Bronn’s sides to cling to him as hard as he could while sat atop the counter, his mouth open and eager for more of Bronn’s tongue.

He’d entirely forgotten where they were when a knock on the glass from the front of the shop jolted him back to reality.  

“Oh my God,” Jaime said quickly, yanking away and struggling to hop off the counter, shoving Bronn back a bit so he could get down.  “Sorry, two seconds!” he called out, adjusting his apron.  He could feel his face turning beet red as Bronn only smirked at him.

“So,” he said, reaching out to tweak one of the straps on Jaime’s apron.  “About that coffee...what time do you get off work tonight?”

Jaime bit his lip, trying to hold back his smile even a little bit to try and retain some dignity.  “Six,” he said.  “You, uh...you wanna meet me here?”    

“Yeah I do,” Bronn grinned.  “Six, then.”  He leaned in to give Jaime one last, lingering kiss before stepping away so Jaime could get back to work.  “It’s a date, flower-boy.”


End file.
